My Daughter is an Old Maid
by KeepingUpDisappearances
Summary: Mrs. Frederick had always been ashamed of her old-maid daughter, especially when the said daughter began to scandalize the family-and Deerwood as a whole. The year following Valancy's request to stop calling her 'Doss' was eventful beyond imagination, and is chronicled in Mrs. Frederick's own journal.
1. Chapter 1

_May 25__th_

Nothing out of the ordinary happened today—except that Valancy was rude to me. To _me!_ We were just eating breakfast, as always, when it happened. Christine had her usual fits of whining, but that was to be expected. Christine couldn't go a day without complaining. It was a habit of hers.

Then Valancy asked, of all things, would I please stop calling her 'Doss' and call her Valancy? I was so taken aback, and when I asked her why, she told me that 'Doss' was too 'childish'. How unrepentant of her, my own daughter thinking she could boss me about!

"You're childish enough," I had said regally, hoping to put Valancy into her proper place, but for naught.

"I am twenty-nine," Valancy said—truthfully enough, I had to admit. But it was horrid that she proclaimed that so shamelessly. My _daughter_, unmarried at twenty-nine!

To rightfully reprimand Valancy for her unfilial words, I reminded her that I'd been married for nine years when I was her age. Then Christine snubbed me, a crowning injury!

"_I_ was married at seventeen," she said airily. Christine had tried to show me up ever since we were girls in first grade. And James Stickles hadn't been such a catch, either! I wanted so desperately to tell her so. But there was old-maid Valancy, sullenly nibbling at a piece of toast. At least Christine _had_ gotten married.

Valancy continued to be argumentative that day. She argued with me for _ten minutes_ that she should be able to get a book from the library on her way to fetch the mail.

"It's been four weeks since I got a book!" Valancy had said.

Eventually I made concession. One couldn't keep on arguing forever.

Christine had her own argument with Valancy as she stepped outside. Nor did I defend Christine. She had been a braggart this morning. "_I_ was married at seventeen!" her words echoed.

This time the argument was about Valancy's flannel petticoat, which she had _not_ put on. Christine had a fine time trying to get her to wear it, and at last she wore her down and Valancy sulkily marched upstairs to don the flannel petticoat.

For that, at least, I was grateful. My daughter is so apt to get colds—which make her weak and fretful and peaky.

"If you made up your mind to not get colds, of course, you wouldn't have them," I'd told her the morning. There had been no such weakness in the family until now.

Later that day, when Valancy was back, she and I and Christine sat down to darning stockings. Valancy dared to ask if the darning could be put off 'until tomorrow' and I wondered again at her daring. Had I _not_ brought her up in the proper way, teaching her about the sin of idleness? She was quite ungrateful.

I think I need to stop writing—it's half-past nine and time for bed.

I hope Valancy will be 'back to normal' tomorrow.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this. I was surprised to see that there is a 'Blue Castle' fan-fiction archive.

Also, anyone who can tell me how the cover image relates to 'Blue Castle' gets an Internet cookie. :7P


	2. Chapter 2

_June 8_

I have not written in here for days, but not for lack of things to write. Valancy has gone…odd, and I tried not, at first, to think too much about them. I didn't want to write them for my grandmother always said 'what is written in ink cannot be undone'.

I realize stupidly enough now, _nothing_ can be undone now. Valancy had been defiant in little ways, but just last Sunday she went to the Presbyterian church instead of the Anglican. For fun, it seems, and to scorn _me!_ The family has always been religious and dignified and orthodox. And now—an…well, I wouldn't say that Valancy's an infidel. But she certainly was blasphemous in some way.

And then, tonight, at Herbert and Alberta's silver anniversary feast, she simply took leave of her senses.

First, about Herbert's house. "A house like that is a blasphemy," she said loudly.

I pretended not to hear her. Least said, soonest mended, as my dear mother had said. I had loved my mother. Apparently Valancy did _not_ love _me_, or she would have taken proper, respectful decorum. And I shudder now to think about what she said at the dinner!

It was odd, queer remarks as had become her habit, and I tried to ignore her. Then—she was horribly _cruel_ to Isabel over an innocent, well-meant remark about how Valancy was too thin. I wonder that poor Isabel didn't faint.

"I can tell you where you'll find a beauty parlour in Port Lawrence where they can reduce the number of your chins," my daughter—_my daughter!_—said, unrepentantly.

Nor did she pay heed to my admonition. It was when Jim* accidentally let slip an indelicate remark involving that Snaith scoundrel and Cecily Gay.

"If you mean that Barney Snaith is the father of Cecily's child, you're _wrong_."

I was stunned into silence. The looks on the faces of the family, and Valancy sitting there, looking 'blank', as if she didn't regret those scandalous words! Perhaps my daughter knew about…things…but to speak of them _out loud_. I narrowly avoided weeping.

Valancy left early, and the others tried to placate me, insisting that Valancy was either feverish or had 'gone dippy', as Benjamin said. I hate that phrase—but suppose it's true? I _must_ close this journal now—Christine's coming for something. If she knew that I kept a journal! She'd always said that journals led people into the temptation of writing down secrets or scandalous thoughts.


End file.
